


What's Yours is Mine (What's Mine is Ours)

by neozeka



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Drabble, Louis Tomlinson Wears Harry Styles's Clothes, Louis in Lace, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-05
Updated: 2015-11-05
Packaged: 2018-04-30 03:37:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5148824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neozeka/pseuds/neozeka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Something about Louis always waiting until the last minute to pack his bag for tour so one time Harry does it for him and then they’re thousands of miles away by the time Louis figures out Harry hasn’t actually packed anything useful. Whether it’s because Harry is just genuinely useless at packing for other people or because he wants Louis to be forced to wear his clothes is up in the air. Also Louis refusing to wear Harry’s clothes out of pure spite until Harry makes it up to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's Yours is Mine (What's Mine is Ours)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [whoknows](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whoknows/gifts).



> So this is an EXTREMELY late birthday drabble for the queen of b!Louis.
> 
> It's super short and doesn't exactly have sex in it (because how do you write smut for the goddess of smut), but I tried. I LOVE YOU <3

Louis knows he should have started packing days ago. Maybe even weeks ago. He just kept putting it off, telling himself that he’d do it after his birthday party. Then, after Christmas with the family. Then, New Years with the boys and his boy, so on and so forth. Now, it’s the day before they fly to the States, and he hasn’t even done the laundry he said he’d do last month.

He’s still putting it off when Harry walks into their living room, where Louis is laying on the couch, aimlessly switching channels and attempting to sip his tea. Harry stands in the doorway, smiling down at his boy. 

Louis doesn’t notice him until he spills his tea on his face, which makes Harry laugh.

“Paul just called, said they’d be here in a couple hours to pick up our trunks,” Harry announces, plopping down next to Louis on the couch and jolting him. “Where’s yours?” He asks, gently prodding Louis’ stomach. 

Louis not-so-carefully places his cup on the table, causing tea to slosh over the sides. Harry eyes it disapprovingly, knowing Louis will leave it there until he wipes it himself.

Louis groans, and turns to shove his face in the cushions. “I don’t want to think about it,” he whines, his voice slightly muffled.

“You always wait till the last possible second to pack, and it always comes back to bite you in the ass,” Harry says, trying and failing to hide a giggle. “Don’t you think you should have learned a lesson by now?” He tugs a little at Louis’ ankles, trying to prompt the other boy to stand. 

“Shh, I’m just going to continue to believe that we’re not actually leaving tomorrow,” Louis replies, waving a hand dismissively. “Let me bask in my delusions.”

Harry lets out a laugh at that. “Alright then, while you do that, I’m going to pack your trunk,” He says, patting Louis’ bum a couple times, before pushing off the couch, and heading towards the bedroom.

Louis only grunts in reply, before settling deeper in the cushions for a nap. He figures Harry could handle packing his trunk without his input.

 

 

Louis doesn’t really realize anything is wrong until a week into the tour. Louis hadn’t thought to inspect his trunk after Harry had packed it, but he’s regretting that decision now. They’re using buses this time, and the band doesn’t really have access to a washing machine for non-concert clothes.

“Hazza, I’m already out of shirts,” Louis whines, sifting through the meticulously folded items in his trunk. “Why did you pack so many vests? And jumpers? It’s not hot or cold enough for either.”

“You always say it’s a bit chilly,” Harry replies, turning in his bunk to face Louis. “And you complain that you’re out of vests every time we’re on tour. You literally complain about it daily.”

Louis balls up a vest and throws it at Harry’s face. Harry leaves the vest where it lands, obscuring his vision. In Harry’s defense, its nearly 3 in the morning and they’ve been up since 9, but Louis still rolls his eyes at his boy’s laziness. 

He also sticks his tongue out at the other boy, not that he can see it. It’s the thought that counts.

“I’m going to be nice and ignore that,” Louis announces. “But I’m still out of shirts,” he continues to whine, slamming his trunk shut. He leaves the trunk in the middle of the floor, hoping someone will put it away for him. Harry probably will if Louis can get him out of the bunk.

“You could always borrow one of mine?” Harry suggests, offhandedly. Louis knows him better than that though. Arguably knows him better than anyone. 

“Is that your evil master plan?” Louis wonders out loud, grabbing the vest and slipping it on. Harry just blinks at the sudden light.

“I don’t know what you’re going on about,” Harry says, mouth twitching at the sides. He really does suck at keeping secrets from Louis. Louis plays along anyway.

“Right, because you aren’t not-so-secretly scheming to see me in your clothes?” Louis says innocuously, shoving Harry to the side so he could crawl in beside him. 

Harry warps his arms around Louis’ middle before he can settle, and pulls him closer. “I don’t even know what that last sentence meant.” He mutters, burying his face in Louis’ hair. “It’s late. We can figure it out in the morning.” 

Harry holds Louis closer when he wiggles around to get more comfortable. It’s been a long day, and Harry’s warmth is making his eyelids heavy.

“Don’t think this is over.” Louis warns, jabbing the bigger boy in the side with a finger. It’s not over, he swears.

 

 

It’s definitely not over, because a few days later, Louis finds himself wearing a shirt he stole from Liam and frowning at his trunk. 

“What is it now?” Harry asks, coming out of the hotel bathroom with his hair in a wrap. He looks ridiculous. Louis tries not to be endeared by it. 

“Is that a suit? In my trunk?” Louis says, confused. “Why did you pack a suit?”

“You looked good in it,” Harry replies, looking down at Louis’ trunk. “Thought you might wear it again somewhere. Maybe on stage?”

“You do realize that we have stylists for stage clothes,” Louis starts, digging through his trunk. “Or maybe not, considering all those shirts you wear on stage.”

Harry frowns, and then pouts. “What’s wrong with the shirts I wear on stage?”

Louis gives up on finding pajama bottoms and flops on the bed. “Nothing. They’re just... unique.” 

Louis watches as Harry takes his hair out of the wrap, gives it a cursory pat, and then leaves the wet towel on the floor. He doesn’t know where people got the idea that Harry is the neat one, because he really isn’t. Sure, he’s neater than Louis, but that’s beside the point. 

Louis isn’t distracted enough to miss Harry finish his fashion rant with, “Maybe you could try wearing one.”

“Keep dreaming,” Louis snickers from the bed. He stretches all his limbs out, leaving no room for Harry to join him. “I’ve decided that I’m not wearing any of your things this tour,” He announces to the ceiling. 

Harry looks up alarmed from where he was digging through his own trunk. “What do you mean by that, Baby?”

Louis tries his very best not to giggle at the panic on Harry’s face. He thinks he does a good job. The adoration that flashes on Harry’s face tells another story.

“Wait, when did you come to this decision?” Harry demands, lips forming a pout. He pulls on a pair of pants and crawls onto bed, eyes drifting down Louis’ body. “You’ll wear Liam’s shirt, but not mine?”

“It’s cause Liam has a special place in my heart.” Louis declares, spreading his legs as Harry crawls over him. 

Harry doesn’t even hesitate to get into his personal space. “You’re so full of bullshit, you know that?” He asks, planking over the smaller boy. 

“Excuse you,” Louis huffs. “I’ll have you know I’m very fond of Liam.”

“Sure, sure,” Harry agrees dismissively, pressing little kisses up Louis’ throat. He feels the other boy suppress a shiver under him. “You’re fonder of me though, right?” 

Louis rolls his eyes, and drapes his arms around Harry’s shoulders. “That’s what you’re going to focus on right now? Really?”

Harry rolls his hips down in response, feeling the other boy growing harder against him. “Of course not,” he responds. How is Harry expected to focus on anything other than the tiny, flushed boy beneath him? Unthinkable.

“Come on then, better make sure I’m still fond of you,” Louis teases, wrapping his legs around Harry’s waist.

Harry leans back to pull Louis’—Liam’s—shirt off. If he’s a little rough with the shirt, and aims for the trash when he throws it, who’s going to know?

 

“Harry! What did you pack these for?” Louis asks, exasperated. He thrusts the shockingly red jeans in the taller boy’s face. “I haven’t worn these in years.”

Harry just shrugs, eyes focused on the game he was playing against Niall. Louis shakes the jeans again, trying to get his attention. 

“I thought they could use a little love. You never threw them out,” he answers, tapping away at the controller. Louis drops the jeans on the floor, and then climbs into Harry’s lap, reaching for the controller. 

They’re the Dream Team, there’s no way they can lose in FIFA. Especially to Niall. 

Harry relinquishes control of the controller without fuss, wrapping his arms around Louis’ middle. He frowns sadly at the jeans on the floor. “Does that mean you’re not going to wear them?”

“Definitely not,” Louis grunts, slamming buttons. “I’m pretty sure they went out of style back in 2013.” 

“Pretty sure you’re the one who made them so popular in the first place,” Harry mutters, trying to reach for the red fabric without jostling the boy on his lap. He doesn’t succeed because Louis jams his elbow back.

“Stop fidgeting, I’m trying to defend your honor.”

“There are more important things at stake,” Harry complains, reaching for the jeans again. He succeeds this time, but at the cost of another elbow to the gut. “I even brought braces to go with them.”

“I think the fans would panic if you wore those jeans again,” Niall nonchalantly comments, mashing buttons on his own controller. Harry shoots Niall a grateful look, but quickly tries to look interested in the game when Louis turn around.

“Does he have you in on this too?” Louis demands, shooting Niall a glare. 

“Don’t know what you’re talking about mate,” Niall replies, shooting Harry a you-owe-me look when Louis turns his attention back to the game. Harry tries to signal for Niall to keep going, but Niall just ignores his strange head motions.

Louis shuffles around on Harry’s lap, glancing over his shoulder again. “I can feel you conspiring behind my back,” he whines. “It’s distracting me. We’re going to lose because of you.”

“Good, that’s what you get for cheating and teaming up on me,” Niall mutters under his breath. He mashes frantically on his controller, and then throws his hands up in the air. “Victory!” He screams, getting up to do a victory dance.

Louis fully turns around to straddle Harry’s lap, and then pouts. “See? Now he’s going to gloat for ages,” he complains, tangling his fingers into Harry’s hair. He eyes the red jeans suspiciously. “I’m not going to wear those on stage.”

“What’s the big deal with these anyway?” Niall asks, holding them up to inspect.

“I just think they look good,” Harry replies, rubbing circles on Louis’ thighs. Louis’ thighs that look absolutely majestic in those red jeans.

“They do, don’t they?” Louis mumbles, eyeing Harry critically. A wicked smile spreads across his face. “Niall, why don’t you wear them onstage?”

“Should I?” The blond boy asks, looking to Louis for approval. The boys always look to Louis for approval, whether they realize it or not.

And that’s how Niall ends up wearing shockingly bright red jeans on stage that night, to the fans delight and Louis’ self-satisfied smirk. 

Harry sulks through the entire show. Louis ends up letting Harry tie him to the bed using the braces and making him come three times.

Harry will never admit that it was worth defiling the image of the red jeans.

 

 

About halfway through their tour, Louis is still refusing to wear Harry’s clothes. Usually by this point, Louis has long given up on everything he packed and borrows—steals—his boy’s things on the regular. This time, he’s being difficult for the sake of being difficult. He makes do with whatever he can salvage from his trunk, and supplements his meager wardrobe with stuff from the other boys.

All while refusing to wear Harry’s things.

Harry seems to have upped his game too, because last week all his shirts went missing. A couple days ago, all his jumpers. That’s fine though, because Liam and Niall are more than happy to help him out. They’ve always been good sports when it comes to messing with Harry.

Today, when Louis opens his trunk, he finds that all his pants have disappeared. Actually, not just disappeared. Replaced.

With panties. 

As nice as the other boys are, there’s probably no way they’ll let Louis swipe their pants. Not that he wants them anyway.

And he’s definitely not going to borrow any of Harry’s stuff. He refuses to admit defeat, especially with the smirk Harry gives him when he walks by and slaps Louis’ ass. 

In retrospect, Louis probably could have just asked someone to pick up some new pants for him. 

He figures it would have been a better idea than slipping on a pair of lacy, black panties to wear to sound check. He blames Harry for yelling at him to hurry up from the hallway—Louis’ rushed decisions aren’t always the best decisions. 

The show is set to start soon, and he can already hear the screams of fans as they fill the stadium. Louis breathes a sigh of relief when he realizes he won’t have to change his jeans, and makes a beeline for the largest white tee he owns, wanting to make sure no one would get an eyeful of lace if he accidentally lets his shirt slip up. 

Harry just raises an eyebrow at him, amused. “So eager to wear my shirt, baby?” He teases, unbuttoning his own shirt while ignoring their stylist’s rebuffs.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Louis huffs, pulling the shirt over his head. “This is my shirt.” It’s his shirt, and it’s been his shirt.

Since he stole it from Harry, that is.

Louis spends the majority of the concert closely monitoring his movements, which causes the other boys to shoot him confused looks. During a short break, while everyone is changing, Harry pulls him off to the side.

“You feeling alright, babe? Not gonna change shirts?” Harry asks, vaguely concerned. “This one’s pretty thin.”

“I can’t, its the longest one I’ve got,” Louis whispers, glancing around the room.

“Why do you need—oh,” Harry’s eyes widen when Louis grabs his hand and guides it around his waist, under his shirt. Harry tugs a little at the lace peeking out above Louis’ waistband. “Oh God, you’re wearing them right now?”

“Not like you gave me any other options,” Louis complains, swatting Harry’s hand away even though he was the one he invited it there. Harry complies, although his hands twitch as if he was going to try and touch again.

“Don’t even think about it,” Louis warns, pointing a finger directly in Harry’s face. They’re called to do the encore then, so Louis doesn’t have to think too much about the way the mood shifted.

He doesn’t have to think about it until Harry sneaks into his car, and practically attacks his mouth. Louis lets out a small moan, climbs into Harry’s lap, and grinds his hips down.

“Guys please. Please wait till we’re back at the hotel,” Alberto begs them from the front seat. Louis feels sorry for him sometimes. Harry groans, but doesn’t go further than snogging and a nice grope. 

Poor Alberto has to beg them to wait again in the elevator. Harry half-drags, half-carries Louis to their hotel room, pushing him up against the door once its firmly shut. 

“Off, off,” Harry mutters into Louis’ lips, tugging at his jeans. It’s a little difficult peeling the tight fabric off his legs while Harry is distracting him with hot, biting kisses, but Louis manages. 

The second Louis kicks the jeans off, Harry spins him around, gets on his knees, and pushes Louis’ shirt up to reveal the dainty, black lace stretching over Louis’ ass. 

“Fuck, so hot baby,” Harry murmurs, placing a kiss over the lace. 

“You’re a lucky man,” Louis agrees absentmindedly. “Gonna eat me a bit, babe?” He asks, bracing himself. 

“Gonna eat you as much as you want,” Harry promises.

 

 

Louis wakes up the next morning to Harry tracing swirls on his back.

“What timessit?” Louis grumbles, shifting further into Harry. 

“It’s early. You can go back to sleep if you’d like,” he replies, a soft smile on his face. 

Louis squints at Harry, noting how he looks pretty wide awake. “Were you watching me sleep? That’s creepy,” he protests. Harry’s fingers don’t stop moving as he talks.

“You just look so peaceful,” Harry replies, switching to rubbing circles in the small of Louis’ back. “You’re a terror when you’re awake,” he teases, lowering his head to nuzzle Louis’ hair. 

“Rude,” Louis declares.

“I’m just kidding, baby. You know you like to make my life a little difficult though,” Harry replies. He scoots down the bed so he and Louis are looking eye-to-eye. “You know I like it when you wear my things, why are you making it so tough?”

“Never asked properly, did you?” Louis asks, placing a kiss on Harry’s nose. “Had some sort of evil master plan going on didn’t you?”

“I’m not exactly great with those, am I?” Harry contemplates, going cross-eyed to make Louis giggle. “Will you wear my clothes already? I miss seeing you all tiny in my clothes,” he says, lips poking out in an exaggerated pout.

Louis leans in to gently bite Harry’s lower lip. “You should convince me,” he whispers, placing another little kiss to Harry’s lips. 

Harry flips them so he’s in between Louis’ legs. “And how exactly do you want me to convince you, brat?” He questions, giving Louis’ nipple a little tug, and watching how Louis goes glassy-eyed.

“I’m sure you have some good evil mater plans in that curly head of yours.”

“...Does that even make sense?”

**Author's Note:**

> Um. So yeah. I'm here if you guys wanna pop by. 
> 
>  
> 
> [ tumblr ](%E2%80%9Dneozeka.tumblr.com%E2%80%9D)


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